Spoiled
by Bryher
Summary: Hermione has seen things she will never forget. Oneshot.


**Title; **Spoiled

**Summary; **Hermione has been shown things she will never forget.

**Rating;** T

_I can't help but feel that he's watching me. I feel his eyes on me, tracking me every time I get up and walk somewhere. It's worse in the dungeons, where it's darker and his eyes are brighter…_

_Oh Merlin. _

_I sound as if I like him. As though, God forbid, I lik-_

"Writing about Ron, Hermione?"

The brunette squeaked and slammed the leather bound book shut, making the tome hiss angrily and growl, "Use me _gently_, or I'll spill secrets aplenty."

Ginny raised her eyebrows and sat back on the chair behind Hermione's crossing her legs casually. Hermione swept a soothing hand over the surface of the leather and kept her eyes downcast as a hot blush spread over her cheeks. "Ahh… yes." Ginny sighed, smirking. "I thought you were. Good job- Mum's got the wedding planned already." The red head grinned at Hermione, who started, then laughed weakly. The youngest Weasley child, oblivious, proceeded to talk about her day blithely, her newest conquest and how angry some Professor had made her after a detention. Hermione sagged against the comfy chair, half listening as she listened to the frantic tattoo her heart set up, pounding painfully against the inside of her ribs. The diary sat balefully on her lap, half on her grey pleated skirt and half on the bare skin of her thighs and knees, having ridden up from it's usual knee length status as she slouched against the leather seats.

How could she have let it get so close? Her secret. Should it ever be disclosed… Hermione slimmed her lips down to a thin line, fiercely reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. It would be unpleasant.

"Hermione, aren't you listening?" Ginny asked crossly, leaning forwards. Placing a tentative hand over her diary, Hermione smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, Gin. I'm so tired. It's been a trying day."

Ginny smiled consolingly, patting her friend on the shoulder. "I understand. NEWTS making you nervous already?"

Hermione nodded, standing. Tugging her skirt down gingerly, she tucked the diary under one arm and looked down at the girl. "I think," she murmured wearily, "I'm going to go down and get the boys from the pitch. They have homework to do." Ginny laughed and moved over to a group of girls from her own year, ensconcing herself happily amongst them and adapting to their conversation instantly.

Wearily, Hermione trudged out of the portrait and out into the cold air of the hallway. As the Fat Lady swung shut behind her, she hugged the book to her frail torso and began the long walk to the Head's Portrait.

As she walked, Hermione thought about her diary. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea; to write about him was to give him credit in her thoughts, and to do that was suicide. After his clearance with the Ministry, brought about by Harry's testimony, Draco Malfoy had become a shining example of a student. Under Minerva McGonagall's care and observation, the only son of the infamous Lucius Malfoy had quite suddenly become a powerful adversary within The Order. As Head Boy, he and Hermione made a strong union to hold the school together though the madness of the last three months. Hermione stumbled slightly against a raised flagstone, sending the diary to thump down with an ominous 'whump'. Angrily, it yelled, _"IT HURT SO BADLY I THOUGHT I WOULD DIE! THOSE IMAGES…I STILL DREAM OF THEM…ALL FOR A HORCR-"_ Hermione, for the first time in her existence, desecrated a book. She stamped on the leather diary. Hard. With a deflated yelp, it silenced. Leaning down, she slid cold and shaking fingers underneath the tome and raised it up to face level. "If you ever do that again, I'll burn you." She hissed venomously, tired eyes blazing angrily. The book said nothing. Hermione tucked it loosely under her arm and began her journey again, listening carefully for any noise that might give away a listener.

"I'm sure that was Hermione's diary,"- The Head Girl froze.

"Nah, that thing is as docile as Dobby," Harry. So the only other logical answer was…Ron's voice floated up, unsure and slightly irritated. "It's that damn book... it was muttering at me when I snuck it out of Hermione's bag in Potions. I had to put the bloody thing back in case she heard!"

Hermione stiffened, indignation and fury igniting in her veins. He'd been through her bag? Harry replied sharply, annoyance raising the volume of the deep baritone; "So you didn't find out why she's been looking so ill?" Hermione came to the end of the corridor and padded out to the banister which looked out over the moving staircases. Grinding filled the air as she peeked over the stone, watching Ron and Harry, tall, imposing against the torchlight as they strode up the moving stairwell, muddied robes dripping onto the floor and from their brooms, which were slung over broad shoulders. She recoiled slightly as Harry looked up at her vantage point, green eyes systematically searching the shadows. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, as though Harry had seen her. Her discomfort grew as she realised that the boys were right. Over the past few weeks, her weight had dropped, she'd become quiet and somewhat withdrawn… and they'd noticed. But then…after the ordeal of finding the last Horcrux…Hermione shivered, and she clutched the diary tightly to her. A twinge of gratitude at their astute observation of her health alongside a dollop of concern for their progress on finding the Horcruxes snaked though her.

At least the boys were in from practice. It meant she could just go to her common room, curl up and sleep.

Hermione watched the duo make take a corridor that would lead them to the Gryffindor tower and sighed. Perhaps she should wear some make up to disguise the bags under her eyes.

The cold December air began to sink into her limbs as she headed down another narrow corridor, nimbly avoiding the suit of armour that was known among the female population of Hogwarts as 'Sir Gropealot'.

Thoughts creased her pale forehead until at last she stood before the portrait of King Arthur and Lady Guinevere, who smiled gently at her, holding hands over Excalibur, which was set into a large granite rock. "Password?" Arthur asked the teen kindly, who offered a weak smile and whispered, "Camelot."

As she stepped up inside the hole, Guinevere whispered, "Arthur, we should see Minerva." Hermione half paused to listen, then shifted so that the wooden frame didn't hit her as it shut again. See Professor McGonagall about what?

The Head Boy and Head Girl, in a controversial move by the new Headmistress, shared a Common Room. Their bedroom doors were on either side, with an en-suite bathroom to save embarrassing moments should the doors be left unlocked. Hermione looked around the comfortable room gratefully. Malfoy had not yet returned from his evening visit to the Slytherin Common Room. Sinking down onto the old leather three piece suite before the merrily dancing fire, Hermione wrapped a woollen blanket around her shoulders and pulled her legs up to her chest.

There was so much to think about now that they had to work in the Order and think about their school careers. Leaning forward, Hermione picked up the diary and flipped it to September 21st. Her eyes, amber in the warm light, were cold as she ran her fingertips over the smudged ink that was the telltale sign of her tears. The words written there were shaky and almost unreadable. Nobody is a stranger to their own handwriting.

Slowly, Hermione began to read aloud, her voice quiet and pained in the high ceilinged room.

"It was supposed to be a routine operation. We'd been over it so many times, Harry, Ron and I. It was infallible. Indestructible. We were to storm the catacombs in teams of three. Harry, Ron and I taking the main passage, Professor McGonagall, Malfoy and Tonks taking the second, Professor Lupin, Bill and Mr Weasley the third. As a three, we ran down. I knew something was wrong when we didn't hear anything. Even the rats had stopped.

I've never forgotten that mark. The seal of the Dark Lord. It wasn't a Dark Mark, it was something more personal. His muggle name, carved into the plaque beside a black thorned rose. So human, alien to the Wizarding world. I touched it.

It hurt so badly, I thought I would die. Those images…I still dream of them…all for a Horcrux, I see so much pain, feel so much misery. I didn't understand at first. But as I became more learned in the dreams, I realised how shattered I had become. How desecrated."

Hermione paused, wiping tears of pain from her face. As she spoke, misery welled like an unstoppable stream, bursting into her mind and flattening all of the gates she had placed there. Images swarmed her head, thoughts of agony, the screams of pain echoing in her ears as she clamped her small hands over her ears and wept, tears running down her face and onto the woollen throw. She didn't understand. All of this misery seemed trapped within her, stoppering her strength, pausing her bravery, halting her belief in others. Harry and Ron had practically scraped her from the floor after the ordeal, and she had stared, blank eyed, horrified at the opposite wall.

Last week, she had told them she was fine.

Last week, Hermione told a barefaced lie to her best friends.

Hermione sniffled weakly, wiping a tired hand under her eyes to swipe away the tears that left a salty residue down her cheeks.

The time for crying was long past. Sliding from the sofa, she let the blanket drop from her fingertips as she made her way to her room, leaving the door open as she carried on into the bathroom.

Standing before the sink, Hermione took in her dishevelled appearance. Her long lashed eyes were red and slightly puffy below the bottom lids. Letting the tap run, she cupped her hands and washed away the tears.

This is who she was now. Strong, dependable Hermione. It was just _him_.

Hermione smiled wanly.

Draco Malfoy. The man she loved.

As tears welled up in her eyes again, Hermione laughed bitterly. Strong, dependable Hermione.

Yeah, right.

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